


timelapse

by miracleboysatori



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, ghost fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-10-26 05:02:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20736650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miracleboysatori/pseuds/miracleboysatori
Summary: The sun is starting to set outside, casting a warm glow through the window that glistens softly against the piano’s ebony surface. Ushijima allows his body to loosen up, now ridding himself of the nerves he’d previously felt over touching such an antique piece of history. Even though he’s never interacted with this piano before today, the keys feel comfortable, they feel safe, they feel like home.A fic in which recently-graduated Ushijima purchases an eery home previously owned by Tendou Satori, a controversial composer from the past century.





	timelapse

**Author's Note:**

> For day 7 of UshiTen week and the Future prompt. (I can't believe this is the last day... this has been an amazing week for ushiten and I'm so happy with the amount of participation.)
> 
> I'm not even sure how to describe this fic in less than 15 words LOL, but it will speak for itself. Originally I was going to make it a oneshot but the idea has grown inside my head to be A Lot bigger, so we're looking at a multichapter fic now. 
> 
> Unfortunately there's not much actual UshiTen in this chapter.. sorta... it'll make sense LOL. But there will be, eventually. And the rating being mature is just in case I do certain things with the fic down the road. Vague, I know. 
> 
> I personally don't consider this major character death, since Tendou is already deceased far before this fic even starts. But if something like that will bother you, you might want to skip reading this one! He's still a major character in the story, even if he's long gone. (Aka this is a ghost fic, as the tags indicate)
> 
> ALSO.. I have absolutely Zero idea of how music works as far as composing and playing it goes. I took guitar lessons for less than a year back in like.. 2012, but it wasn't my thing. So I apologize if some of this is inaccurate or simply incorrect. Music buffs pls don't get mad at me LOL..
> 
> I hope you enjoy! As a reminder, I don't have a beta, but I'll look over this in a few days and check for mistakes. For now, I apologize in advance for any that are there. Because of how much and how fast I was writing the past couple weeks, there may be more than normal, but I really hope not!
> 
> Thanks for reading ;; ♡

Footsteps echoing through tall wallpaper-covered walls and intricately detailed wood flooring, Ushijima Wakatoshi takes in the sight of his newly-acquired home. He runs his fingers along a velvet-lined stair railing, hears the creaking of each step as he climbs up towards the dimly-lit second floor. A musty scent gently fills the air, but it’s not overpowering, more so comforting in a strange way.

The historic building had metaphorically fallen into his lap about a month ago after he’d been offered a job in the city, writing music for an upcoming movie. With such a small budget, Ushijima worried that he’d have no choice but to move back home and turn down the job, but that’s when he’d found the ad for this stunning home, nestled on a hill in the forest just several miles from the city. 

Writing a soundtrack for a film is a difficult task, and it’s the first time Ushijima’s done something on this scale, but surely the inspiring architecture and rich history of this home could potentially be a huge advantage for him. What’s even better, and what probably sealed the deal, was the shockingly low cost. The realtor wasn’t asking for much, and while he seemed strangely eager to get rid of the old building, Ushijima couldn’t possibly say no. The keys were his hands in just a few days, and it didn’t take much longer for him to completely move in.

The house is furnished, filled with furniture that he’s certain must have been here since the home was built. Much of it is lined with dust, but he doesn’t mind having to do a bit of cleaning before he really settles in. Some people might be tempted to throw out everything and start fresh, bringing a more modern flare to the interior, but Ushijima’s always been intrigued by antiques and the history that they carry. 

Truthfully, though, there’s one piece in the home that he’s especially thankful is there.

The stairs to the second floor lead into a hallway, flanked by a few bedrooms, a bathroom, and at the very end of the hall, the space that Ushijima plans to spend most of his time. The room has extremely high ceilings, a huge window looking out into a wide expanse of trees, walls of bookcases, and at its very center, sitting atop a deep red and gold carpet, an antique grand piano.

Ignoring the much louder echoes of his footsteps against this floor, Ushijima crosses the space until he’s standing right next to the old instrument. He’s now the proud owner of a 1896 Steinway piano encased in ebony wood and partnered with a matching stool. Its surface is caked with dust that flies into the air with just one gentle swipe. It catches in the sunlight filtering through the floor-to-ceiling window, making it sparkle. 

Why Ushijima is focusing on the dust floating in the air when he’s standing in front of one of the most beautiful things he’s ever seen in his life, he’s not sure. 

Ushijima tugs the stool out from under the piano, swipes at a much thinner layer of dust, and carefully sits down. It feels good to be seated directly in front of a grand piano again, instead of a cheap keyboard nestled in the corner of a small apartment. The last time he’d had this luxury was back in college, and the piano back then was _nothing_ compared to this gorgeous piece. 

From where he’s sitting, he can better see the filigreed music desk. He’ll need a small duster to get into all those crevices, but it’s beautiful nonetheless. He vaguely wonders what sort of sheet music had previously rested on it, given the history of this massive home.

That, of course, had been part of the charm too. This wasn’t just any home, it was the abode of a revered, though controversial, composer who sadly passed away sometime in the early-to-mid 1900s. Ushijima has read several articles about the man named Tendou Satori, and while the information is vague and usually negatively biased, he’s curious to learn more by living in the very same home as this unquestionably skilled man.

Tendou, while talented, pushed the boundaries and limits of composing music. Based on what Ushijima’s read, he’d covered a wide range of jobs -- everything from composing for an entire orchestra to playing for fun in small cabarets. And everything that he created was so obviously his. The controversial part wasn’t his music, but his personal life. He was a party-goer, a frequent drinker who indulged in questionable things simply because he was rich and could afford it. Ushijima is of the opinion that that shouldn’t matter, that Tendou’s impressive library of work should be appreciated no matter how he lived his life. But at the time, that wasn’t the general public’s outlook. 

It’s a shame, really, that the man never got to live in a time where people like him weren’t looked on so harshly. Ushijima supposes it doesn’t matter; the man’s been dead for years, and what’s left of his legacy resides in this home. A home that he can now call his, as strange as that is. 

It’s odd how desperate the realtor had seemed to sell this place. Ushijima vaguely wonders if he’d been tricked into purchasing a home that actually has nothing to do with Tendou at all, if he’d been fooled by false stories and intricate lies. But when he looks around the room, taking in the sights and smells that have accumulated here over a century, something about the energy that resides in these walls gives him a strong feeling that this is the real deal. 

He gingerly rests his fingers on the piano, pressing the keys necessary to play a few chords before transitioning into Debussy’s Clair de Lune. It’s a piece he’d learned years ago, and obviously an incredibly well-known song, but it’s one that he never finds himself becoming tired of playing. And he can’t think of a better way to break in his new instrument than with a classic like this. 

The keys play beautifully, and even with the lid still down the sounds echo satisfyingly throughout the room. The sun is starting to set outside, casting a warm glow through the window that glistens softly against the piano’s ebony surface. Ushijima allows his body to loosen up, now ridding himself of the nerves he’d previously felt over touching such an antique piece of history. Even though he’s never interacted with this piano before today, the keys feel comfortable, they feel safe, they feel like home.

Granted, playing the piano has always been a place of comfort for Ushijima, ever since he was a child. He remembers his father teaching him, then bringing in an instructor every week to further Ushijima’s knowledge and skills. Even after his father left when he was very young, Ushijima felt a strong passion to master the instrument. Years and years of hard work and discipline have certainly paid off. He was accepted into a top tier university, earned honors relating to his musical skills, and now, just a few years after graduating. he’s landed a job many can only dream of.

Oh, and he’s now living in the same home as a prominent musical figure.

After playing for just over a minute, he’s suddenly interrupted by the sound of something thumping against the floor. The note he’s playing ends abruptly and he turns his attention to the other side of the room. The sound had come from near one of the bookshelves, just behind an old wooden desk. Ushijima stares at the area for several seconds, trying to discern what could have possibly made that noise. Sitting here and speculating will do him no good, so he slowly gets up from his seat, crossing the room.

On the floor next to the desk is an old leather book. Its pages are open, landing on a random page with crudely scribbled writing. Judging by the clean rectangular spot on the edge of the desk, he assumes it must have fallen off just now.

Strange. Clearly he hadn’t been anywhere near this desk; he hadn’t made it anywhere in the room besides the piano. In fact, he doesn’t remember ever seeing this book before today, even after all those tours the realtor had given him. Could the realtor have left it here? Ushijima can’t think of a reason why he would, but no other explanation makes sense.

Ushijima crouches down, carefully picking the book up and glancing at the pages. The script is clearly written in pen and ink, and the pages are yellow with age. He’s almost afraid to touch it, it feels like it might turn to dust if he handles it too much. Instead, he shuts it and places it back on the desk. It’s quite possible, and likely, that a number of pests live inside this place; the likelihood that a stray mouse or rat ran across the desk and knocked the book off is very high.

Of course, there are no tracks in the dust covering the desk that would indicate something like that happening. But still. 

There’s no other possible explanation.

Suddenly feeling much more tired than he had just a few minutes ago, Ushijima decides he should turn in for the night. His bed -- one of the few pieces of furniture he’d moved in to the house -- seems like the best place for him right now. He glances once more at the grand piano, eager to break it in more tomorrow. Thankfully, he has no other obligations right now other than composing a few songs for a movie. The prospect of spending his days in this room, playing music and looking out on the wide expanse of trees… 

He looks forward to it.

**\-----**

Ushijima always starts his mornings with a brisk jog and a healthy breakfast.

Fortunately, the kitchen had been newly renovated before he’d moved in. While he’s interested in the idea of living like a rich man from history, the idea of learning to cook as they did back then feels much less inviting. He’s almost certain he’d end up setting the entire home on fire.

Unfortunately, however, there aren’t really many suitable trails around his new home. This meant buying a brand new treadmill and placing it in the living space of the house. It sticks out like a sore thumb, and it definitely can’t match the satisfying feeling of running against the wind, but it fills his need for daily exercise.

Staring out the living room window and trying to simulate the experience of running outside, Ushijima keeps up a steady pace against the rubber track of the treadmill. He glances down, notes that he’s been running for 25 minutes. He can feel the burn in his ankles, tempting him to increase the timer to 40 minutes instead of just 30. It takes a quick drink from his water bottle and a moment of consideration for him to decide against that idea. A sore body wouldn’t be very beneficial towards his plans to play music all day.

He continues running, nearing his goal of 30 minutes until the machine beeps as if he’d pressed a button. Thrown off by the sound, he slightly stumbles as he continues running, looking down at the screen to find that the timer --

“30 minutes?” he mumbles to himself.

Why had the timer started over just now? Just 15 seconds before it should have ended? The treadmill is brand new, surely it wouldn’t already be glitching and malfunctioning, right?

Ushijima moves his feet to either side of the treadmill, presses the ‘stop’ button and waits for the rubber track to slow down completely. Though he’s confused, he chalks the mishap up to a small glitch. Besides, it hadn’t really interfered with his workout besides raising his suspicions. 

He towels himself off, finishing the rest of his water bottle and sighing with satisfaction. Nothing beats a quick jog at the start of every day. As he climbs the spiral staircase upstairs, the burn in his ankles becomes more prominent. But that’s nothing a quick shower can’t fix. A shower that he’ll unfortunately have to put off for a bit, since he wants to set to work dusting the piano room.

It’s a bit frustrating that the realtor hadn’t hired someone to deep-clean the home before Ushijima had moved in, but he supposes he shouldn’t be expecting so much. Again, the price was a bargain, and he doesn’t mind cleaning that much anyway. _He_ could hire a cleaner, but oddly enough the idea of cleaning the space himself makes him feel as if he’ll become more well-acquainted with it.

Armed with brand new bottles of surface and glass cleaners, multiple dusters and a tub of disinfecting wipes, Ushijima sets to work, starting with the bookshelves. He’s still intrigued by the wide array of books lining the shelves, but he knows if he starts looking now he won’t get anything else done today. Several rows are taken up by what looks like the same book over and over again, spines marked by dates and timeframes. A quick glance tells Ushijima that these are very likely journals of some kind. In fact, now that’s looking at them up close, he realizes they look very familiar.

Ushijima turns just enough to look at the desk on the other side of the room. His breath slightly catches in his throat when he spots the journal on its surface. It’s still there, yes, but its pages are open again, and it’s sitting directly at the center of the table. Ushijima’s mind races, trying to remember just how he’d put it back on the desk last night. He’s almost positive that he _had_, in fact, closed the book. Clearly, though, his memory is failing him, because the journal is open.

He closes his eyes tightly for a moment and then reopens them. He’ll need to get his head clear if he wants to get work done today, and he logically knows that it’s ridiculous to focus so much on a silly little book on a desk. 

Focusing on dusting and cleaning quickly makes him forget about the strange experience. Unfortunately, it takes most of his day to get every nook and cranny cleaned, and by the time the sun is starting to set outside the now-spotless window, he’s feeling much too tired to try and work on writing music. He’ll play for leisure, just for an hour or so, but first he wants to finally take a shower.

Before he’d purchased the home, the bathroom had also been redone. Again, it sticks out quite harshly next to the rest of the home, but he supposes it’s worth it to have the luxury of a large shower, a brand new sink, and an actual toilet. In fact, years before he even knew about this home, the landlord had hired people to install plumbing, water, and electrical systems, as well as air conditioning and heating. Ushijima is especially thankful for all of this because, despite the charm of the antique architecture, he’d much rather live with the comforts that all modern homes offer.

The hot water feels incredible against his sore muscles and admittedly grimy skin. He could almost fall asleep standing up, he thinks. Sure, it’s odd when the water starts to turn ice cold every few minutes, but Ushijima chalks that up to the water system getting used to being utilized after so long. He’s sure that after a few days it’ll work like normal.

Freshly showered and towel-dried, Ushijima steps back into the clean piano room. His fingers practically itch to play those keys and become more acquainted with the instrument, and now that it’s dusted and wiped down, he can raise the lid and really experience the beautiful sounds that he’s sure it will make. Just as he’s about to sit down and play, he notices something that makes his skin crawl.

The journal has made another appearance. This time, it’s resting right on the piano stool, open to a blank page. 

Ushijima stares, unsure of what to do. His mind is reeling, his breath has stopped and his heart feels like it’s going to burst out of his chest. He’s afraid to touch it, afraid that moving it might cause something bad to happen. What exactly? He has no idea, he’s having a difficult time maintaining his hold on reality right now.

He may have moved it again, right? Maybe as he was dusting off the desk he’d placed the journal on the stool, just to get it out of the way for a moment. And then he forgot to put it back. That’s what happened, right? And if that’s the case, it’s safe to pick it up and return it to its usual spot. So why isn’t Ushijima’s body doing what he’s telling it to do?

Maybe it’s because he’s realized that the pages aren’t completely blank. In the top left corner, written in fancy cursive, is a single word: ‘Hello’. And it looks fresh.

No. Ushijima closes his eyes tightly and reopens them. The journal is still there, but he logically knows someone couldn’t have possibly written something in it recently, unless that someone is him. He’s never known himself to sleepwalk, but maybe he’s suddenly picked up that habit. Maybe that would explain the journal moving around, or the strange addition of the word ‘hello’.

Even still, Ushijima glances back at the desk. Thankfully, there’s no pen and ink sitting out. So no, there’s no possible way that that word is freshly written.

Clearly, his head isn’t on straight today. He’s tired, exhausted from the process of moving and then spending all day cleaning. He thinks the best thing for him right now is to relax, play some music, and then go to bed.

Though he’s nervous to do it, Ushijima carefully picks up the journal, shuts it, and places it back on the desk. He stares at it for a few seconds, making a mental note of how exactly it’s resting there, where it’s placed on the surface as well as the fact that it is, unquestionably, closed.

Ushijima returns to the piano, loosening up again and playing a few songs as the sun sets outside. The journal has completely slipped his mind again; in the end, he knows that the more attention he gives it, the more it’s going to affect him. He has a job to do, and he can’t be distracted by little things like this that can be explained with logic.

Sleep comes easy again that night, his thoughts are void of any overthinking that could be taking place. And, of course, he makes sure to close his bedroom door in hopes that he won’t end up sleepwalking that night.

**\-----**

The following day starts just as every other does: Ushijima eats a healthy breakfast, gets in his morning jog, and freshens up with a warm shower. Without the obligation of cleaning, he quickly enters the piano room and prepares to get to work. To his utmost surprise, and relief, the journal hasn’t moved. Shutting his door must have done the trick this time. His day is spent just as he wants it: playing piano, looking out on an endless forest, writing down short melodies he thinks he might be able to expand on.

In fact, the following week goes exactly as planned, and he’s gotten an impressive amount of work done. So much time has passed that the journal is starting to collect a bit of dust again. It really _hasn’t_ been touched. Ushijima laughs to himself when he realizes how silly he was to believe anything remotely impossible; the sleepwalking was the problem, and closing his door at night has fixed it. 

However, he finds himself more and more drawn to the object, curious what details lie inside of it. It could house a number of secret details relating to the historical figure this home belonged to, or maybe the books have already been gone through a used to write a number of articles and documentaries. Ushijima still finds it strange that the home wasn’t immediately claimed by someone much richer than him, or at least someone who was a distant relative. He still wonders if he’d been fooled the entire time he was purchasing the home.

Ushijima knows he needs a break from playing anyway. He gets up from the piano stool, slowly walking over to the desk in the corner of the room and eyeing the journal. He blows on its surface, sending the thin layer of dust flying into the air. It doesn’t move, doesn’t fly open to a random page, and why would it? That wouldn’t make any sense, it wouldn’t even be possible.

Taking a seat at the desk, Ushijima carefully takes the book in his hand, checking its spine for any indication of… anything, really. He can’t completely make out the date, but it looks to be ‘1915 - ’. If that’s correct, this particular journal would have been started close to Tendou’s passing. And based on the fact that there is no second date after the dash, Ushijima guesses that that may very well be that case.

He opens the journal, flipping to a random page, making sure to not rip the old, faded pages. The script is fairly small and scribbly, making it hard to read in some places, but with enough focus Ushijima manages.

12th of February, 1913  
I had the pleasure of playing at a brothel this evening, I played songs that I’ve never played before, let my fingers do whatever they wanted, and the patrons loved it. I’m not certain if that’s because the sounds were actually good, or if it’s because they were all drunk out of their minds. I had women offer me a place to sleep in their homes, men offered me drinks. I turned them down; unfortunately I needed to return home and work on my piece for an upcoming event at a theater. I do enjoy the riskier things in life, but I suppose my work must come first. Perhaps tomorrow night will offer more opportunities.

Based on this entry alone, Ushijima’s convinced that this is either the real deal, or a cheap knockoff from someone pretending to be Tendou, simply going off of the biased articles written about him. He’ll have to keep reading if he wants to find out. He flips forward several pages, reaching somewhere just past the middle of the book. Next to this entry is a folded up piece of paper.

25th of July, 1914  
I seem to have developed a painful cough. I would blame whoever it was I went to bed with last night, but I can’t remember their name or what they look like. Either way, I wrote a short song yesterday, it was a melody I kept playing over and over again while trying to decide what to have for lunch that day. I ran out of paper to write it down properly, but I hope the version on this small page will suffice. I ended up deciding on soup for lunch, so I’ve entitled the melody accordingly: Soup.

Ushijima unfolds the paper, discovering that, yes, there is crudely written music on its surface, done on a grid meant to replicate sheet music. Ushijima looks over it, wondering if this is indeed one of Tendou’s pieces, one that he’s never even shown to the world. That thought alone is overwhelming. Ushijima could be holding a piece of history in his hands, and his fingers could be the first ones to play it in countless years. He mimics playing it on the top of the desk, going through it a few times until he thinks he has it down. It’s simple, high in pitch and whimsical in style. 

With paper still in hand, Ushijima crosses the room and takes a seat at the piano again. He presses open the makeshift sheet music and rests it against the music desk. His fingers find the keys of the first few notes and he starts, messing up a couple times before finally getting it right. After a few tries, the notes come naturally and he eases into playing it several times, at different speeds, at different pitches. It’s fun to play, lighthearted and fast, bringing a smile to his face as he repeats it over and over again. 

When he’s had enough, Ushijima leans back, staring appreciatively at the folded piece of paper. Miraculously, he thinks he’s actually discovered something huge. Well, the song isn’t huge in itself, but the idea of finding a piece of music written by a famous composer, a melody that he doesn’t think has been played by anyone besides himself and Tendou. Okay, so maybe ‘Soup’ isn’t an ideal find, but surely there must be more hidden relics in that journal, or any of the others lining the bookshelf. 

Ushijima returns to the desk, eager to return the paper next into its designated journal entry, excited to read through even more. Then his skin crawls, he suddenly feels cold.

The journal isn’t open to that page anymore, it’s turned to the blank ones again, the ones that had previously simply said ‘Hello’. Ushijima’s eyes don’t want to look, his mind doesn’t want to admit what he’s seeing right now. But there’s another freshly written message, this time still shiny and wet with ink.

‘Why’d you stop?’

Ushijima, without thinking, slams the book shut and nearly topples backwards. His breath is shaky and his legs aren’t sure where to take him. Does he panic? Does he run away? What would he even be running from? He has so many questions, zero answers, and his mind is running at a thousand miles per hour.

Worst of all, the book opens again, Ushijima watches black script bleed into its pages, but he’s too nervous to look too closely right now. When he notices that the ink has stopped, that he can’t hear the scratch of pen on paper, Ushijima tentatively steps forward again, just enough to read the new message.

‘Oops, did I spook ya’?’

That’s it. That’s the final straw. Ushijima yanks the book off the table and shoves it into a bookshelf, between two others so he knows it can’t open like that again. He almost trips over himself as he exits the room, shutting the door behind him. Why is he shutting the door? What could even come after him? What _was_ that?

Ushijima doesn’t know, he’s too afraid -- yes, spooked -- to spend another second in this house right now. He grabs his wallet, his keys, and heads out the door. 

He doesn’t know where he’s going, but anywhere would feel safer right now.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you thought, I love any and all comments. Also feel free to reach out to me on twitter, I'd be honored if you wanted to talk to me! (esp about tendou, ushiten, or shiratorizawa in general!) ♡
> 
> art twitter: [tendouaf](http://www.twitter.com/tendouaf)  
main twitter: [ushitentxt](http://www.twitter.com/ushitentxt) (I'm most active here)  
tumblr: [tendou-satori](http://www.tendou-satori.tumblr.com)  
art blog: [kat-doodles](http://www.kat-doodles.tumblr.com)


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